


Until You Smile

by thesolemneyed



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Death, Drabble, Grief, Longing, M/M, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesolemneyed/pseuds/thesolemneyed
Summary: His arms and his chest and his lungs and his eyes all burn with the effort of keeping his head above water, of keeping himself afloat. His mind becomes utterly streamline focused, almost letting every other aspect of his being drift away.A phone is ringing.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20
Collections: Seventeen Holidays





	Until You Smile

**Author's Note:**

> One (last?) 17hols fill! 
> 
> This one...she hurt me. She hurt me good.

Time passes differently now.

It has a stretched out, immeasurable quality to it. Tomorrow becomes like the horizon at the edge of the sea. Yesterday feels as distant and untouchable as the ocean floor. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks even pass by, battering as they pass. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just stop the fight, to slip below the surface into the nothingness of forever.

And yet Wonwoo battles against the tide.

His arms and his chest and his lungs and his eyes all burn with the effort of keeping his head above water, of keeping himself afloat. His mind becomes utterly streamline focused, almost letting every other aspect of his being drift away.

A phone is ringing.

Wonwoo’s eyes lurch open. Short blades of grass are tickling the back of his neck where he lays on the dry ground and the salt wind strokes down his torso. His body feels heavy, unresponsive.

But the phone keeps ringing.

He hadn’t noticed it there before, but there is no missing it now. The white booth gleams proudly, undeniable as the first rosy fingers of dawn curl around its delicate frame. The glass is just slightly warped so the light passes through like the image found in a rippling puddle.

  
Wonwoo heaves his heavy body up from its dusty resting place. Out of habit, he brushes his hands along his back, a motion that might normally send up small clouds into the air. Although the earth beneath his feet is hard, compact, the walk to the booth is like wading upstream in viscous molasses.

And the phone is still ringing.

After an age - or a breath’s length - Wonwoo reaches the booth. The metal structure is cool under his fingers but the inside smells like fresh pinewood and old parchment. His reflection is cast back at him in the glass, foggy and out of shape.

He lifts the phone to his ear, his heart quaking.

_Hello?_

There is silence at the end of the line.

No.

Not quite silence.

A shaky breath through the wire. Someone else - not the person holding the phone - says something low and gentle. Another sigh, a sniffle.

“Hyung?”

Mingyu’s voice shatters into Wonwoo and he brings his other hand up to cup the phone closer. Something swells inside him, threatening to sweep him away for good.

Mingyu coughs and sniffles again, then his voice comes back stronger. “Hyung? I don’t know if you can hear me,” _I can, Mingyu. I’m here,_ Wonwoo says, “but, I mean, why not try, hm?” His self-conscious chuckle is filled with static and loss.

The phone is painful where it is pressed against his ear, as though he can press himself through and back into Mingyu’s arms. There is space in his stomach in the shape of loneliness.

“Well, I’ll be quick, hyung.” _Don’t be. Please, take your time_. “I just wanted to say…” There are cracks forming in Mingyu’s voice and spreading through to Wonwoo’s heart. He takes a deep breath, the air pulled directly from Wonwoo’s lungs. “I just wanted to say,” he begins again, his voice watery, “I’m sorry.”

The cracks spring open and Wonwoo slides to the floor of the booth. _It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. This is just how things have panned out for us._ But his words don’t carry over the hurricane of Mingyu’s tears.

  
The other voice is back now, closer and warmer. He thinks he might recognise it if he tries, but the name slips through him. Mingyu must be holding the phone to his chest now, the same way he held Wonwoo close for so many night. The sound comes through the phone disjointed and barbed.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo closes his eyes, “that I wasn’t fast enough to react. I’m sorry I wasn’t watching the road properly.” Wonwoo can only make out the words now because he’s used to deciphering Mingyu, albeit not usually though tear like this. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop in time.” He breaks off again, breathing heavily.

Mingyu hadn’t been watching the road because, as had been the case from their very first day, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from straying to Wonwoo for long. His eyes had been wide, wonderful as they took in Wonwoo’s full-bellied laugh at one of his jokes. Their hands had met in the shadow of a touch on the wheel of the car. Their friends had often commented that this distraction would lead to ruin.

Which, of course, it had that night.

Wonwoo can feel what Mingyu is going to say next, even before the words leave his lips.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me.”

The words are so soft that it shocks Wonwoo to the core how deeply they cut him. The only thing that has kept him afloat has been he has been alone, that Mingyu has been safely where he belongs. That knowledge has been an anchor for him in the freezing waters of his despair.

_Don’t be sorry, Mingyu,_ he says, even though the words are pointless, even though they’ll never reach home; they hurt too much to keep pent up inside him. _Never be sorry. Be something else. Be angry and curse the fact that I ever came into your life. Be heartbroken and don’t leave your bed for days, weeks even if you need. Be so terribly, awfully sad that it feels like you could drown in it._

_But when you’re done being those things, Mingyu, be something else. Laugh with your friends in the kitchen until sunrise. Spend too much money on shoes that only you like and parade so far in them that you wear them thin. Lie, safe and warm and secure, in the arms of a man who loves you. But, most importantly, be happy. Be happy for me._

_Be happy._

Silence hangs in the air, a salt breeze. The metal is still cold on Wonwoo’s fingers and against his face, but he can see birds flying free through the glass of the booth.

“I miss you, hyung,” Mingyu whispers. “I miss you so much.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say it back, but he knows Mingyu knows. Instead, he murmurs, _I love you, Kim Mingyu._

“I love you too, hyung.” There is the ghost of a smile to Mingyu’s voice, the outline of a shape Wonwoo knows so well.

The click of the phone-call ending feels very final, even if Wonwoo knows it is not. This is not the end of their story.

_I’ll see you soon_ , he promises.

**Author's Note:**

> *wipes away a single, graceful tear* 
> 
> come cry on twitter ? (@thesolemneyed)
> 
> also the title is from Call, Call, Call because i am SICK


End file.
